


Let us go then, you and I

by awoof



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, OOC, OUT OF CHARACTER WARNING, although it is justified
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-11 00:47:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11703291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awoof/pseuds/awoof
Summary: WIP WIP WIP WIP WIPYOU PROBABLY DONT WANT TO CLICK ON ITI'm just posting this just because I am too lazy to put this into a word document but AO3 deletes drafts in a month...Also kind of want to get some feedback, so if you have any, feel free to write something in the comments.Probably will update like 10 words per month or something.





	Let us go then, you and I

"This- how can y-- this is fucked up."

 

"And perhaps I would have to agree with you for once, John Watson. But look at them. Aren't they happy?"

 

***

_New Scotland Yard, Christmas eve_

"Leaving on time again, boss?" Sally Donovan leaned against the door frame, her lips quirking, as if she knew something.

"Yeah, someone's waiting," Greg said, flashing a grin at Sally, then picked up his coat. He made quick work of the mess on his desk (by stacking everything in one big pile and pushing it to one corner), grabbed his work briefcase on the chair, and slung it over his shoulder.

"And who's that?" Sally, being a prick, had to stand in the doorway and act totally innocent.

"Nobody," Greg said, aiming for the gap on the left, but then Sally caught his gaze and leaned naturally to the left.

"Is it Hopkins?" Sally asked.

"Christ no!- well I mean, she's wonderful, but-"

"Dimmock?"

Greg had to roll his eyes for that one, a habit he had unfortunately picked up somewhere along the way. Well, Dimmock isn't like unattractive (ok, maybe slightly attractive), but just because he's bi doesn't mean he's attracted to all available men in vicinity.

"What about you ask Dimmock what he thinks, and then you can all play a bet on that mystery person or something and I can leave my office in peace?"

"Or you could just tell us," Sally pointed out.

Greg glanced at his watch (fifteen minutes late) and then at Sally's face and then tried to quell the bubbling excitement in his guts as well as the rising anxiousness.

"Please?" He pleaded with his best puppy eyes.

***

From the snow-laden corners of the street, a cat silently eyed a grey-haired figure as he fumbled with the door to one of the shabby buildings before disappearing quietly behind the battered wood. Behind which was, in the time that we transitioned from the snowing street to inside the building, a certain detective inspector pinned to the rough surface with his rumpled hair against the little 'x' of tape across the peephole never really used, so that no one from the outside could see him being snogged and snogging as thoroughly as a passionate teenager would.

"Sher-hhmmmmm" From the outside the heavy thump against the door, and the small, breathless sighs behind it dissipate into the white deserted street like the irretrievable echoes of the night. A camera hanging on the metal branch slowly turns away, blinking at the falling snow.

"You got me a secret present," Sherlock whispered his deduction in Greg's ears, before resuming their urgent, desperate kisses against the door, the fabric of the inspector’s coat catching onto the darkened little splinters on the door wood.

“Knew you would figure that out somehow,” Greg laughed gruffly, before his lips got captured in yet another long kiss and slow moan. If love were a war, then he would be the conquered land, bright artilleries moving roaming firing scorching marking until the wild fire across his body burned this flag white.

“You buy presents on Christmas. Wasn’t that much of a leap,” Sherlock said, pulling away slightly and smirking. It was the first time since he entered the apartment and left the cold winter streets behind that he had a good look at the man in front of him. Intense blue eyes, a mop of unruly black hair, cutting features framed by the dim hallway light, a smile, a loose stained t-shirt hanging on his frame. He’s perhaps slightly _(very)_ eccentric, but he’s Sherlock, and he’s looking at him. What else shall he ask for?

“Oh yeah? What did I buy then?” Greg asked with a grin, pulling the other detective back into his arms and pressing their lips back together.

“Lube, although I don’t know which flavor you got. Did you get the new-“

“Shut up,” Greg muttered against the other pair of lips, grinding their bodies together.

“Minted banana-“

“Shh.”

“Flavored-“

“Sherlock!”

“Lu-“

“Sherlock, it’s supposed to be a secret for y-“

The rest of what would be said, however, was shut up by a kiss.

_“I know.”_

***

_New Scotland Yard, July_

Sometimes, when he stood in the elevator with a couple other guys in full suits without a drip of sweat, perhaps he would be a little self-conscious of his soaked shirt and rubicund face, and wished that he had used the money to buy a car. But then, he’s a detective – running around the city, catching bad guys – having an exhausted look on him might get him more recognition from the bosses. As much as he wanted to be able to sit in the office all day enjoying the AC.

The elevator door closed, and then there was this awkward silence that always befell the people inside, only to be sliced through by the intermittent cool metallic voice announcing random numbers. A few people went out, a few came in, and he was suddenly snapped out of his idle thoughts by an Anderson in his face.

“Thinking about that someone again, boss?” Anderson chuckled, and then moved to stand next to him.

“I’m not thinking about him _again_ ,” Greg muttered, before realizing what he had said, when he was met with the pure glee on his lab technician’s face, “Oh shit.”

“I knew it!” Anderson grinned smugly, “I told Donovan she only needed to _observe_ how you didn’t bother to fix your hair before leaving, or how you still wear the same kind of shirt every day. Obvious, really.”

“I never fix my hair and for God’s sake, what am I supposed to wear at work besides a shirt?”

“I don’t know, a pink tie?”

Greg snorted, and walked out of the elevator when the doors opened. “By the way,” Anderson said, following behind, “DCI Jones said there’s someone from the government meeting you today.”

“When?” Greg asked, wiping his sweaty forehead with one hand and fanning his shirt with another.

“He didn’t say,” Anderson said, turning the corner, “Oh, apparently right now.”

Through the frosted glass wall of his office, they could see the dark shape of a person sitting on a chair, waiting quietly inside. Anderson gave Greg a small pat on his back before turning away, and Greg hurriedly tried to dry his face with his shirt and tame his hair in a presentable way (albeit in vain). Then he stood at his own door, braced himself, and twisted the door knob.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. Finally one chapter lmao.


End file.
